Harsh multitudes will throng thy gentle brink;
Back with the grieving concourse of thy waves,
Home to the waters of thy childhood, shrink.
Thou heedest not! thy dream is of the shore,
Thy heart is quick with life; on! to the sea!
How will the voice of thy far streams implore
Again amid these peaceful weeds to be!
My soul! my soul! a happier choice be thine,—
Thine the hushed valley and the lonely sod;
False dream, far vision, hollow hope, resign,